*Lauren stood outside the large, old iron double gates to Sage Springs, looking up at the fancy rusted metalwork.
The fascinating thing about talking to Marie was that a person left her presence filled with a renewed energy for the challenges of life—but Marie didn’t give definitive advice, she somehow suggested. That was a true gift. No wonder she had fifty-nine thousand blog followers.
“There’s starlight and wonder awaiting you,” Marie had said when she dropped her off five minutes ago. “Go get it, sugar.”
Lauren took her focus beyond the gate and up to the evening sky.
The stars were out in the dusky night, seemingly just sitting around, doing their thing. But they weren’t, they were moving, and living, and exploding and traveling through space at great speed.
What could they do, the great-grandfathers? Ava wouldn’t send her into the house if there was danger, but there had to be trouble waiting. Trouble Lauren was meant to sort out.
The curse had been on their heads for years and she was forced to accept there might be some truth to it. But had Molly really ended it for herself and her hometown? Or only dented it? She was engaged to be married—but the wedding hadn’t happened yet. Her photography business wasn’t fully up and running and neither was Saul’s hiking business. There were still a few weeks before the grand opening of both. Anything could happen in that time. Which meant Lauren had to make her plans for Sage Springs and make them fast to help deter whatever trouble was lurking out there. The better armed against the great-grandfathers or the developers, the more chance the Mackillops had of coming through whatever storms were heading for them.
She shivered, the air colder now, and dropped her tote bag on top of her suitcase, then took one key off the ring of three.
“How come you’re not talking to me in my head?” she asked her grandmother.
“Maybe I don’t like the conversation you’re having with yourself.”
Lauren found a smile. “I’m at the gate. I’ve got the key in my hand.”
Ava didn’t answer.
“I’m going in. I might not come out alive, and it’ll be your fault.”
“Watch your back, Lauren.”
“Hello, Scarlet.”
She almost jumped out of her skin at the sound of Danton’s voice.
She spun around and glared at him, hoping her heartbeat couldn’t be heard because it was pounding in her ears. “I think we can end the pretense—Mark.”
He gave her a slight shrug. “At least we’ll always have the memories of the Champs-Élysées.”
And a shower of spring rain, with a flurry of umbrellas a moment before he kissed her.
His voice might be as low and mellow as a tumbling brook but any cozy, romantic thoughts she’d had about him were dead in the water.
“Why did you do it?” she asked.
“The pretense? It was fun. Why did you do it?”
“Nothing better to do.” She wrapped her thin shawl more securely around her throat and turned her attention to the gate, thrusting the key into the lock, but it refused to turn.
“Want a hand with that?”
“What I’d like is for you to get off my property.”
“I’m standing on the boundary of my property.”
It was a demarcation line too close for comfort. She glanced over her shoulder. “What are you doing out here?”
“Taking the evening air, then I saw you here at the gate and thought we ought to have a little talk.”
She looked him dead in the eye. “I’d be grateful if you didn’t mention how we met at the airport or what happened.” It was best to get that said upfront. There was little value in everyone in town knowing they’d already met. It would fuel rumors and she had enough on her plate.
“You mean the memories we made together?” he asked, his brown eyes teasing. “What’s so wrong with what we did?”
“People might take it the wrong way.”
“Do you always worry about what people think?”
“You would too if you were a Mackillop.”
“So you’re brushing me off because you’re trying not to live up to your family’s reputation.” He gave her a hesitant smile. “I’ve heard about the grandmothers.”
“You leave them out of this. There’s nothing wrong with them.”
“I didn’t say there was.”
“And you?” she asked. “I suppose your family doesn’t have a reputation. I suppose your family is flawlessly well-respected.”
He didn’t move a muscle, but she thought she saw a momentary darkening of his eyes.
“How did you make up the French name?” she asked when he didn’t respond.
“Dubois is a family name, on my mother’s side.”
“What about Suzy Fletcher? The girl you were in love with.”
“Absolute truth. What about you?” he asked, tilting his head. “You told me you came from a big family. You said you were an only daughter with five brothers.”
“I knew you were lying, so I lied too.”
“You didn’t have a clue I was lying—and I wasn’t, remember? Granny Dubois existed and so did Suzy.”
“Suzy had a narrow escape, and I bet Granny wasn’t a true Frenchwoman. So where did the names Danton and Alexandre come from?” This was her chance to ask as many questions as possible and seek out the truth or catch him out on a lie, and she was going to take her opportunity.
“I made them up. What about Scarlet Juliette?”
“Just a make-believe name from when I was a kid. How come you were able to make up French names so quickly?”
“I’m a writer. I make things up all the time. Why did you need a make-believe name when you were young?”
“Because I was a little girl! I liked fairy tales and precious things, like plastic pearl necklaces and grown-ups’ high-heeled shoes.”
“I liked Scarlet.”
They stared at each other in the depleting light. What had he seen in Scarlet that was so different from Lauren, the real woman?
She really ought not to care.
She returned her attention to the key stuck in the lock, jiggling it hard.
“If you’re not going to let me help you, you’ll be sleeping under the stars. Here.” He shrugged off his bomber jacket.
“Why the sudden courtesy?”
“You mean I wasn’t courteous in the VIP lounge?”
She’d felt the onslaught of many emotions when she’d been with him in the lounge. Like it was okay to run wild across a field, or tap dance down Main Street, and not give a damn what others thought. Things she’d done as a child but never as a woman. She hoped to regain that touch of devil-may-care spirit one day, but there’d be no singing and dancing until she discovered what he was up to.
“I don’t trust you,” she informed him. “Just so you know where you stand.”
“Fine, but come on. You’re cold.”
Without waiting for a response, he draped the jacket over her shoulders.
The heat from his body warmed her instantly. There was the merest fragrance in the leather. Aromas of bergamot, mint, green grass, and fresh mountain air. It smelled like adventure; strong, earthy, masculine. It smelled of money, too. More money than Lauren had at her disposal. Could he really turn the old bar into a profitable saloon?
She cringed. He’d ruin the ambiance of her town, the one Surrender already had beneath its rundown state, the one they were going to enhance. However they were going to do that.
“I’m not sure I’d trust anything around here,” he said, reaching for the key in the lock. “I’ve been hearing all sorts of things about the town and the valley. Gerdin told me about the property developers trying to buy your land.”
“They’re offering way below value. They’re trying to steal it, not purchase it.”
“What do you think these developers are going to do next?”
“What’s it to you?”
“I’ve just bought into the town—there’s a lot at stake.”
“You didn’t know about them?”
“Nobody said a word before I signed the lease.”
Suddenly a cell phone rang, vibrating against her hip.
“That’s mine,” Mark said and shoved his hand into the jacket pocket, pulling out his phone.
Lauren stepped away, her heartbeat a little fast. Under other circumstances, she’d welcome a little body-shock reaction to the slightest touch from an attractive man she’d kissed, but not now that she knew who he was—or rather, who he wasn’t.
“Sorry,” he said as he stuck the phone in his jeans pocket.
“You aren’t going to answer it? Don’t mind me.” Whoever it was, his slight pause between looking at the caller ID and deciding not to answer made her wary. What was it Marie had made up about him? Maybe he’s a man with a brilliant future, forced to change his life.
“What are you really doing in the valley?” she asked.
“I’m snooping on you. I’m writing a novel about your town. I’m going to turn the bar into a flower shop. Take your pick.”
He got the key unstuck and pushed it back into the lock.
“Did you know who I was?” Lauren asked. “At the airport?”
“I took a lovely lady named Scarlet to a late supper in a VIP lounge.” The key turned with a groan, and the iron gate creaked open.
Mark handed back the key. “Want me to see you to your front door?” He nodded at the other two keys in her hand. “They’re large. What sort of house is it?”
“One without a wall. One with a curse. One that’s haunted by my great-grandfather. Take your pick.”
A shadow of a smile played on his mouth. “Can’t we be friends, Lauren?”
“I don’t make friends with people who are up to no good.”
“I’m surprised you’ve got any true friends, to be honest, since there’s a curse on your head. Gerdin told me that, too. Is that why you came home? Is there going to be trouble?”
“I came home because of a company called Donaldson’s.” She waited, but he didn’t flinch, blink, or move a muscle. “They’re mean, underhand sharks.”
“I’m more interested in the curse.” He stuck his hands in his pockets. “Tell me about it.”
“Why?”
“I like a good story.”
Was there someone around you at the airport? Marie had asked. A journalist? A guy after a story?
“What sort of books do you write?”
“I write other people’s books.”
“So why suddenly buy a bar?”
“I’m looking for a change.”
“And you chose a crummy backwater town?”
His smile held a chagrined apology. “It’s actually not so bad. Certainly not from where I’m currently standing.”
His flirting gave her an instant reminder that she’d wanted to kick off her shoes and relax while she was with him, like any woman might do while getting acquainted with a man who oozed warm, masculine sensuality in bucketloads.
She looked away. She had to stop remembering the occasion that way. She no longer had a crush on him.
“I’d like to be friends,” he said. “Especially as our properties are so close. If you’re planning to open a business, we might need to come to some agreement about access.”
“There’s a dedicated access road to my house. Nobody need set a foot on your saloon property.”
“Yeah, but it’s the long way around. Quicker if people use the land at the rear of the bar. I’m a little worried about what you’re planning, too. If you’re going to open a hospitality business, perhaps we can join up in some way.”
She almost laughed out loud. “I wouldn’t join two pieces of bread together to make a sandwich with you.”
He grimaced. “This isn’t going well, is it? I think I liked us better when we were chic aristocrats from Europe.”
“The only thing I liked was the pretzels.”
“Ouch.” He took a step back, hands in the air. “Okay, I’ll quit trying to make friends with you. From now on, I’ll watch my back, you watch yours.”
Darn right. And here was something to make him twitch.
“By the way,” she said sweetly. “My great-grandfather built the bar. So don’t joke about the curse on my head, because you might have just bought into your own curse.”
She grabbed her Louis Vuitton and walked through the gate, dragging the suitcase behind her. “Good luck with that,” she called as she made her way up the gravelly driveway without looking back.
*
A few minutes later she was standing at the bottom of the steps to Sage Springs house, trying to focus on her next task. It had been one hell of a twenty-four hours. She was tired, longed to soak in a bathtub of hot, bubbly water, and knock back a glass of wine.
She tapped the heel of her boot on the ground as she studied the lead-glass front door.
She was going to go in—she was. In a minute.
She glanced up at the house towering above her. It should have a romantic feel with its three-story steeply pitched roofline, its double turrets, brick chimneys and fish-scaled shingled spire. But the sickly green paint on the weatherboard along with the mustard-colored patterns and cuts of the access trims made a person want to turn around and go somewhere else.
What on earth was she going to do with it?
It was Victorian in most parts, and nothing more than a showcase of her great-grandfather’s wealth. He’d been a fancy pants. Except it had been the Mackillop family’s money, not his. He’d inveigled his way in, like all three great-grandfathers had done. They’d fathered, then run off when the going got tough and hadn’t gotten their own way.
She released a sigh.
The house looked like someone had transported it here and set it down because it was too heavy and too cumbersome to cart any farther.
Her heart melted a little. Poor old house. There was a ballroom inside. Only a small one, but she’d danced in it as a girl, sneaking into the house with her cousins and playing out fairy tales.
She gripped the keys in her hand, lifted her suitcase up the steps and rolled it across the floorboards of the wrap-around porch until she got to the front door. Which was open.
What are you frightened of? Ghosts can’t hurt.
She pushed the door wider.
Lamps were glowing and the aroma of sage infused her nostrils. Marie must have lit the lamps earlier that day. At the far end of the hall, the kitchen door was open, and the pine table held a bowl piled high with fruit, an oval china dish with a flynet over it, which was most likely supper, and what looked like a boxed Hopeless sponge. Undoubtedly, a vanilla cake with a white-fudge frosting—her favorite.
Sage Springs was named for the bushes that led to the waterfall by the lake and Marie had placed dozens of branches of sage in old tin and glass vases and bottles, the herby aroma taking away the musty smell of dust and cobwebs. Nobody went to the lake anymore. The only way was through Lauren’s fenced and gated property, down a long winding trail that began at the far side of the house, and nobody came to Sage Springs. Not after a man was nearly killed here.
She’d always thought the grandmothers decided to attempt renovation of the three houses six years ago because they’d known trouble was around the corner with the developers. But had they been working to a different plan? All three cousins had left after that, determined to find a new life away from all the name calling. Each of them wanting to be someone other than a “wacky Mackillop.”
Was it the curse that had drawn her and Molly back? Or were the grandmothers up to something?
She parked her suitcase and dropped her tote bag on top of it, then walked down the hallway. She paused outside the open double doors to the ballroom where she’d twirled in her borrowed high heels, catching glimpses of herself, hair flying, in the mirrored sections on the paneled walls.
The house hadn’t frightened her then. She’d snuck inside many times, either with Molly and Pepper or on her own. It had been her turreted hideaway. What young girl with a vivid imagination wouldn’t want it?
She turned from the ballroom. What was she feeling, back inside again? No chill. Nothing eerie or untoward encroached on her senses. Instead, a kind of awe spread through her.
Starlight poked into the house. There wasn’t an outside wall on the right-hand side of the imposing staircase that led to the first story, so she could see the stars. It was as though they were inside with her.
Somebody had hung clear plastic sheeting over the gaping hole, the cracked and broken bricks and plaster hanging behind the sheeting like flotsam on some shipwreck. Davie had done that, probably.
Her family had welcomed her home with bunches of sage, gentle lamplight and weatherproof plastic sheeting. Molly, Marie, Davie. She might not have her mother, but she wasn’t without family. Even the townspeople were her family.
And her grandmother.
It was late and she should get something to eat, find out which bedroom had been made up for her, take that bath and try to get some sleep. But she wasn’t going to do that.
“Ava?” she called mentally. “I’m coming to see you.”
“I know,” Ava replied. “Don’t forget to grab a jacket. It’s cold this evening.”
Lauren started as the fragrance of Mark’s cologne, entrenched in the leather of his jacket, encompassed her. She’d totally forgotten it was draping her shoulders, warming her.